On the Wings of Angels
by CultDaemonicusArts
Summary: Three months after Reclamation Day, Michael finds himself at East Kanawha Lookout tower. All seems perfectly normal until a fellow Vault Dweller is attacked by a pack of hungry mongrels. Will he be able to act in time and survive the encounter? Find out in part 1 of "On the Wings of Angels"
1. Part 1: Bloodhound

On the Wings of Angels

Part one: Bloodhound

Everyone should have the chance to be buried with their family when the inevitable comes. Some lady had died recently at the top of the watchtower, probably succumbed to dehydration or starvation by the looks of her frail frame beneath the rags she had managed to put together. Michael had dug a shallow grave next to the burial mound that the woman had made for her baby and covered her up. Taking a few moments, he replaced the blue teddy bear and the building blocks that had spelled out "My Angel" beforehand. It was sad really, how the world had become viciously primal as if in a fit of rage because of the mess the people had made twenty-five years ago with nuclear warfare and now everything was overrun and everyone was dead or turned into some abominable creature with no rational thought.

Micheal sighed and wheeled the baby crib over to the side of the mound and placed a small boutique of soot and rhododendron flowers. It was pathetically simple but it would likely be the only kind of remembrance and respect they'd ever get. He walked around the mound of earth to stand by the southern cliff face. It had only been three days since he had given his brother, James, a similar burial after he had taken a hatchet to the throat from a Scorched victim in the farms near the Gilman Lumber Mill. He had been the real warrior too, bashed out some armor out of metal plates and had a machete, acting like some medieval knight of old. 'Discount Power Armor' he had called it like it was his invention. Michael fiddled a little with the leather armor he had strapped around his waist, fastening it firmly in place. He turned and made his way back up the dirty and rusting steel steps of the tower, skirting around the fallen cabinet file and back up to the top where he had first found the dead woman. He was now left with a bare mattress, footlocker and he had brought the map inside from the balcony that went around the outside of the whole platform. The map wasn't damaged too badly, luckily enough, so Michael was able to determine that there was a water plant and a power station near Helvetia, on the other side of the river. Perhaps they would be useful for gathering some proper water for a change and the power station might just have a working light bulb for once, he'd been looking for a new one for a few days now but the risk was just too much to take without his brother to help out.

Preparing for a day of scavenging, Michael drained the beer bottle of cold tea and put the last chunk of roasted molerat in his mouth to chew on as he began to strap on his crossbow and bolts, 10mm pistol and a pair of frag grenades he had found in a crate at the bottom of the tower. He picked up a trio of Petri dishes he had found, cleaned and put some salve in which had been invaluable with the number of times he and James had been stung or burned. Placing the Petri dishes in the front pouches, he slid two spare magazines in the back pouches on his waist and then put a pair of stimpaks in the loops on the front of his waist. It was then that the silence was broken by a shout of surprise. Michael frowned and looked over the banister to see the commotion a few drops down the eastern cliff face. He turned and ran for the stairs, snatching his rucksack up off the mattress and ran down the steps as quickly as he could. The cries were growing more distressed by the second as he reached the bottom and began to make his way to the edge.

"Hold on! I'm coming!" He called out, readying his crossbow. He had seen a woman, another dweller of Vault 76 by the deep blue jumpsuit but she had been attacked by a pack of rabid dogs. The growls were loud and vicious, mixed with the cries of the woman. As Michael made the second drop, falling to one knee, he cursed and lifted the crossbow to his shoulder and fired quickly. He caught one in the side, between two of the ribs that pressed out against the red, irradiated skin. The hound yelped and collapsed at the sudden attack but lost its footing, falling from the next ledge and plummeting below to its death. There were two dogs left now. One had clamped its jaws around the left leg of the woman but the other had started to tear at her face, splattering the nearby stone and grass with bright red blood. Michale reached to his side and drew his silenced pistol, quickly firing three shots at the one latched to the woman's face and landed one shot in the back leg. Another shot startled the other hound as the round clipped its ear. They broke off and fled down the side of the hill toward the river as Michael dropped down, pulling a stimpak out for the woman. She whimpered and cried weakly, rolling gently from side to side as she clutched her mangled face.

"Hey, hey. It's gonna be alright." Michael dropped down heavily next to her and pulled gently at her arm. "Come on, you gotta let me help you." He let her go and instead turned to her undamaged right leg but she kicked him off.

"No...no," She moaned weakly, voice muffled between her fingers and the blood that flowed from beneath them. "It's too late for me now. Let me go...and see them...again." She coughed wetly. "Let me go...and fly...on the wings of angels…"

Michael bowed his head sadly as she rattled off her final breath and her arms fell to the ground, revealing the torn up flesh from the ripped up lips to the punctured eye. With a shout of rage and frustration, he hit his fist against his leg, tears welling in his own eyes. Too late, just seconds too late. He could have done something to help her, but she wanted to go and be with those who had left her behind. With a heavy sigh, Michael wiped his eyes dry and looked down to see a trail of blood leading off to the east towards the water treatment plant. These creatures attacked anything on sight and with one now wounded they would be far more dangerous, they needed to be put down. Michael pushed himself to his feet, holstered his sidearm and reloaded his crossbow with another bolt. Despite the bright morning sun and clear skies, the air was sour. Getting to his feet he began to track the two hounds that had made their escape down the rest of the cliff. The blood led south-east, down to the main road by the river, the tracks left behind showed that one had slowed to accommodate for the other who had been injured. Had these irradiated canines begun to revert to some form of wolf pack mentality? He wasn't sure but that didn't matter anymore. Crouching down, he lifted the binoculars that hung around his neck and looked over the water plant. What he saw made him shudder. There were perhaps a dozen small, pale robots walking around. They were small, no taller than a man's knee but the bottom split into four insect-like legs and in the center, a bright red star that pulsed with light. Michael had encountered these before in the Vault's carpark with his brother, they weren't particularly tough if you knew where to hit them but they were fast and annoying and that eye was not just for observing the land around them; James' early metal armor had almost been melted through entirely by some of the laser bursts that had been fired at him. Michael moved his gaze farther south to the power station where he saw a small pack of molerats, he made a mental note to return here should he need to go hunting but there was no sign of the dogs on the far side of the river. He frowned, dropping the binoculars and traveled to the base of the hill. The morning sun had been buried under dark rain clouds now and a cold air sent chills along his spine. There he stood in the middle of the road, Helvetia to his back and the path went on before him far out of site where the map had indicated a place called Summersville was. It had begun to rain and the blood trail had begun to fade, perhaps the wound was not as bad as he had thought it was. He began to turn, examining the banks of the river for any tracks or some kind of sing that hinted to the whereabouts of the two dogs but he could find nothing. The orange leaves in the trees rustled with the wind and as the clouds finally broke and began to release the rainwater that had been kept prisoner for so long. It was unsettling, unnatural how quickly the air had changed. Michael jumped at a thundering crack but quickly calmed himself and steadied his breathing, he hated thunder. That was when he heard it; the rustle of bushes, the clattering of claws and labored snarls as he turned again, raising the crossbow to his shoulder. He fired, the bolt slicing through the rain and catching the first hound in the shoulder, making it drop and roll. Michael backed off quickly, pulling back the cord so he could reload. The bolt slid in again and the wounded dog yelped and dropped down with a second bolt through the throat, whining but unable to rise as it died but there was no time to celebrate. The final dog was uninjured and leaped at him. It all seemed to slow down as Michael tripped and fell backward in an attempt to avoid the dog. It was all teeth and snapping jaws, the rotted meat making the breath fouler than what he could have possibly thought possible. This creature should not have been alive by any standard of logic. It was only when he landed flat on his back and the air was pushed from his lungs that reality seemed to snap back to normal. He managed to raise his right arm in time for the jaws to clamp down on the hardened leather. It hurt but not as much as it could have been, the pressure was incredible though as the hound snapped its head back and forth as if trying to tear the limb off. Panic began to set in as Michael remembered the damage done to the woman earlier and he desperately tried to reach for his knife, lifting his back off the ground barely an inch he snatched at the grip of the blade and wrenched it out from its sheath. With a desperate shout, he put all his strength into driving the side of the hound between the ribs. The jaws loosened a little and so he stabbed again and again until it fell off of him, taking no chances Michael rolled over and threw himself towards the dog and rammed the blade home under the jaw and into the brain. He sat up, panting and wiped the blade clean on the Vault-Tec jumpsuit, adding yet another bloodstain to it. It was done, it was all over.


	2. Part 2: Prey's Flight

Part 2: Prey's Flight

The six super mutants grumbled amongst themselves as they trudged along the cracked road from Summersville. There hadn't been much in the town's ruins in the way of sport, there wasn't even any good gear either so their spirits were low. As they neared the power station they paused as the snarling in the distance.

"What's that noise?" One of them grunted through broken teeth as their hound stopped to sniff at the air. Their beast was every bit as huge as they were. Mutated beyond recognition, the only thing that resembled them to the normal dog they had once been was four legs and a ravenous hunger that never seemed to be satisfied. This one had dirty olive skin, stretched taught over massive muscles that made it look like a large more akin to a large, hairless hyena. Catching a scent, it lifted its head and howled to the sky like a wolf. It bounded off to hunt its prey and the super mutants broke into a run, shouting in delight at the prospect of bludgeoning something into a bloody paste. Charging forwards after their hound they saw the human. Small and thin with leather armor over some old military clothes, it ran off at the sight of their great, green beast.

Michael ran harder than anything. Super mutant hounds were the worst thing he could have ever dreamed up. A mass of muscle with a jaw so large that you could fit a man's head inside it easily before it snapped shut like a spring. He'd always been told by his brother to never run from dogs, they'd just catch you and tear you apart. He could hear the snarling and the panting behind him, growing closer as the claws scratched at the tarmac. He tore one of his two grenades from the hook on his belt, pulling the pin free and he stopped and turned. In one smooth motion, he threw the grenade in an underarm motion, sending it into the air. As mutated as it was, the beast was still a dog and it leaped up, distracted and caught the grenade in its mouth. Michael continued to run as he heard the muffled boom of the grenade inside the beast and knew that it was no more. His thought was confirmed by the enraged shouts of the super mutants themselves who began shooting at him so he ducked down, veering off the road and onto the grass on his left, ducking behind a building. He paused, panting heavily. Looking around he could see the road running through the town and the commotion had stirred up the scorched within.

At the far end of the main road was a large, white church with blown-out windows but there were far too many of the scorched for comfort. Sucking in a deep breath, Michael ran again, past the small stream and then the band practice area on his left evidenced by the chairs in old instrument strewn around the raised wooden platform. Running across the road, there was a small wooden bridge with a single scorched on it. With a burst of speed, Michael charged into it and knocked it off balance before it had a chance to swing its heavy pipe down. This close to it, Michael could see the torn and bloody skin to reveal the redraw muscle with green, glowing shards protruding from between the cracks like small arrowheads. He punched it in the face and slammed it up against the yellow wooden boards of the building next to them. Drawing his knife once more, he stabbed it through the eye. It jerked and spasmed before slumping to the ground when he pulled it free. Looking over his shoulder he could see the group of super mutants approaching, their sights locked on him for the most part but some of the scorched had begun to attack the hulking green monstrosities with their own pipe weapons. The air was filling with the cracks, bangs, and pops of the makeshift weapons and Michael sprinted across the bridge and along the gravel path. On his left, there was a small building and he turned, slamming into the door but all he did was hurt his shoulder as the door refused to budge. He grabbed the handle and shook it vigorously, twisting and turning it to no avail but there was no time so he ran again from the Honey Haus. The super mutants had pushed through the first handful of scorched, two of them had broken off down the main road to engage the others in the center of the town as the other two chased down Michael who barged through the double doors of the Cheese Haus. He slammed them behind him and pushed his back against them. His eyes darted around, the pale blue cash registers were faintly visible in the dark gloom of the building. The heavy rain drummed on the roof, mixing with the gunfire that could be heard in the distance on the other side of the town. He needed to get out of here. Without his brother beside him, Michael knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would not last two minutes in a straight fight with the hulking giants. His eyes darted around, landing on an empty bookshelf to his left. Turning to it, he wedged his fingers around the edge and pulled it out, the wood scraping along the floor. He hissed and flinched as a splinter stabbed its way into his hand but he tightened his grip and pushed the bookshelf onto its side and the up against the door. It wouldn't do much, but it would be enough to delay them...for now. Crouching down he stepped slowly around the edges of the room, careful to step over and around the littered papers and tin cans. Creeping behind the counter, he pushed against the wooden door that led to the back. Opening it by a crack, the muffled rain, and the battle unleashed its full cacophony upon his ears. He stepped out, crouching by the rusted, red tractor on his right that had been long abandoned.

"Puny human!" Michael scrambled and rolled away just in time for the two-by-four to smash into the ground by his left ankle. Scrambling to his feet, Michael ran towards the old, ruined bookstore. It was a "U" shaped building, with cash registers ahead and windows on the right just as the building before. He rounded the corner and straight into a pair of scorched, the three of them falling in a heap. Michael rolled aside and stumbled back as the super mutant smashed through the door behind him. Michael drew his pistol and fired three times at the scorched, catching one in the shoulder and stomach. The second took another round in the eye, falling back in a second. He spun around, raising the weapon slightly to accommodate for the towering hight of the super mutant and was punished as the heavy wooden plack cracked against the side of his head, knocking him flat on the ground. Everything was hazy as Michael rolled slowly onto his side and looked up at the monstrosity that seemed to fill his entire vision. It raised the plank above its head and Michael closed his eyes, prepared for death. He thought they could have really made it, him and James. That they might find other people, rebuild America or at least something that could become it but no, there was nothing. James was dead and rotting, he had no friends left to call upon, the Overseer was missing and there were new and dangerous creatures at every turn. The sound of cracking and splintering timbers and grunt muffled by a wet crunch made Michael open his eyes. A dark, smoky figure stood where the mutant had once stood. Big red eyes looked down at him emotionlessly. All Michael could hear was the battle in the distance and the faint clicking above him and then even the red lights disappeared as his strength failed and everything went dark.


	3. Part 3: Angels

Part 3: Angels

Michael groaned and rolled into a sitting position as his vision began to return to him. His head pounded and felt sticky and damp around the temple. He turned onto his hands and knees and tried to push himself to his feet with shaky feet. His vision blurred and his mind went foggy again, threatening to consume him in darkness once more. He stumbled forward a step and a wave of nausea twisted his guts as he gasped, knees buckling beneath him. In the background, he could still hear the pops and cracks of gunfire in the background. He spat out a mouthful of blood onto the wooden floor as he felt around for the syringes on his belt. His fingers shook a little whilst he fumbled before his hand locked around the circular dial on one of the syringes. He pulled it free and pulled the plastic cover on the needle off with his teeth and spat it onto the floor. He pressed the needle into his inner arm just above the inside elbow and was rewarded with a rush through his body as his wounds began to knit themselves together, restoring his strength and energy. It had been a close call that he should not have survived but something had decided to intervene, nevertheless, it was time to make an escape. He looked through the double doors, seeing a small shack a short way off to the right and farther beyond was the tall white church. He could make it, surely he could make it. Michael did a quick inventory check. He picked up and returned his 10mm pistol, reloaded it with a fresh magazine and returned it to its holster on his hip. He checked behind his back to find the combat knife secured in its sheath. He tugged on the straps of his backpack, lifting the weight closer to his back and onto his shoulders. This was it, the moment that would decide his fate. He'd been granted a second chance which was much more than what most people had been given. Closing his eyes, he cleared his head of all the thoughts, breathing in deeply through his nose and releasing it through his lips.

"OK, ok. Three, two, one." Michael threw the door open and sprinted as hard as he could, the air whipping through his hair. It didn't take long before he was inside that small wooden shack. He ran through one door and was on his way through to the door leading through the other side but was forced to throw himself to one side as another super mutant swung his rifle like a club at him. He hit the ground hard and rolled aside the display stand in the middle of the small room. The super mutant was big and bloated, pus leaking from an old wound in one eye as Michael drew his knife and slashed at the hand that lunged forward to grab and crush his face. The hand retreated as blood flowed from it, the super mutant shouting angrily. He glared at Michael with such a dark intent that any other time it would have sent a paralyzing chill down his spine but he had no time for that. The mutant charged forth with all his speed ready to crush Michael like a train and then things suddenly seemed to slow down. The plan was in motion as he heard each footstep land, he watched one arm the size of a large tree branch pull back and tense, bloodied fingers closing into a fist to smash his head to a pulp. Michael reached behind him with his other hand to the weapon he knew was behind him, that he'd seen in the corner of his eye when he had first jumped aside. His fingers felt the handle and as the fist came forwards he moved on instinct, stepping aside and turning as the super mutant's fist smashed into the wall. Michael looked at the super mutant as he raised the ancient black powder pistol to the super mutant's temple and as it turned to look at him, Michael fired. The hammer dropped and sparks lit and with a loud bang with the force of what felt like a small bomb, the super mutant's head disappeared into a spray of red mist and the body dropped like a sack of potatoes. Dropping the pistol he stepped over the body and returned the knife back home. He took a moment to look through the back doorway. The fighting had come to the front of the church where a super mutant was fighting off four scorched, keeping them at bay by swinging his rifle back and forth by the barrel. Michael ran towards the back end of the church, climbing and rolling through one of the windows. As he got to his feet, Michael's stomach turned at what he saw. Five figures were in the room between the pews where the pre-war skeletons slept. Each figure was blackened like meat roasted on a fired but it was cracked by the giant, glowing green pustules and lesions the protruded from the crusted flesh. The cracks between them also glowed with the same irradiated green hue as if still burning up within. Some were crouched, holding their stomachs whilst others stood with their hands clutching their heads as they screamed silently to the Mothman effigy on the wall.

There it was, and it was real! Ribs were linked to four skeletal arms that ended in long claws that loomed like reapers scythes over the pulpit below. The legs were short and ended in birds' talons and on the wall, somebody had drawn on the four wings that filled the space like a dark web. The only disappointing thing was that there was no skull, just a holiday mask hung in its place. Michael edged around one of the petrified scorched, transfixed by the figure that loomed in the eerie green light above him. Perhaps he could clear the place out and examine it more closely. Perhaps he could try and find some of the cultists alive that he and his brother had come across during some of their early travels? He snapped back to reality as the spell was broken by his arm brushing the corpse and it shattered into a pile of ash. His Pip-Boy's Geiger counter began clicking as he coughed and choked on the acrid smoke that was thrown into the air. He stumbled to the central aisle and made his way to the pulpit stand and up the stairs that led to the second floor. Those who had once lived here before becoming infected had brought a table up here and must have been piecing together a rifle made from old pipes and chunks of wood, held together by rusted screws, bolts, and shaky welds. Michael moved on through a doorway that led to a walkway that creaked and threatened crack at any moment should he dare to make a wrong step. After edging his way around a portion that had broken away, he moved on to the opposite side and past a skeleton in pastors clothes, seated on an armchair and comforted only by a cigar and a dusty bottle of whiskey. The stairs next to it led to the top of the spire where the wind whipped and the rain lashed at Michael's eyes to put the world in a blurry grey filter. What was worse was that he knew he needed to make his way down the slippery tiles. At best, one slip would break an arm or a rib but at worse his ankle or even his neck could twist right around or his head would dash against the rocks that made the hill opposite him. Sitting down, he began to tentatively hedge his way down the first part of the roof. He slipped a half foot as he was forced to duck under a hatchet that was thrown up at him. The scorched had finally killed the last of the super mutants and had seen him climbing down. One of them waved a pistol around, firing wildly as they shouted with hoarse voices. Pulling the pin on his last grenade and tossed it towards the group. It detonated, spraying blood, mud and metal shards into the air as Michael dropped from the upper roof to the lower roof that provided shelter to the wings of the building. Following the path up the hill on his right, he stopped dead at what he saw at the picnic site. There it was, shrouded in black mist and with wings so large it seemed to be like a cape wrapped around it. Cautiously edging closer he could make out the talons and the feathers that coated the entire thing.

"What are you?" He whispered under his breath. As if in response it spread its wings, fluttering them and clicking rapidly, its large red eyes staring into him. It seemed to be just as inquisitive as Michael was, each one sizing up the other.

"Mothman? That's what they call you." Michael reached out a hand slowly to touch the creature but pulled it back sharply as it screeched loudly, taking off into the air. It had vanished into the clouds. As Michael turned to look eastward, he could see the watchtower that he had adopted and through the binoculars, he could see what remained of the town of Sutton. For the most part, it was relatively intact but right at the far end was a wall made of boards and corrugated steel manned by at least a dozen more scorched. He needed to get back soon and retrieve his supplies. It was then that he noticed it again. That creature watching him from all the way by the watchtower. It was then that he remembered the woman he had tried to save.

"An angel perhaps? Is that why they worship you?" Michael was unsure of what the creature wanted but this was an opportunity to examine one of these fascinating creatures, all he knew was that this was not the last he would see of the Mothman.


End file.
